


Stochastic

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Compulsion, Dark, Dire, Fingering, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Questionable Themes, Vampire AU, Violence, almost, dub con, this almost comes off sweet, vampire hunter!silva, vampire!chrollo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”<br/>― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stochastic

**Author's Note:**

> this one is p dire so if youre not good with dubcon or like, manipulation and shit of that nature you may want to look elsewhere. it sneaks up on you so, just. yeah. be warned i suppose.

The fear was thick enough to taste even at the gates of the village.

Silva looked through the throng of villagers and took in their wide eyes and superstitious trappings, the way they gave him a wide berth though they themselves had invited him to come to their aid. It was familiar, in the way that base human instinct was. The location didn’t matter much. The fear of death looked the same everywhere he went.

“Where is it?” he asked, shouldering his bag higher, ignoring the way the movement made the gathered crowd murmur and shuffle back in unease.

A woman stepped forward, old yet still proud through her discomfort. “In the forest there is a castle, long abandoned. It came to us recently, but it’s taken so many already.” Her voice went low with regret, the weight of the loss bowing her shoulders. “Please, you must rid us of this nightmare.”

She made as if to grab his hand, to plead from him directly, but Silva stepped away. “I will. It won’t live past the night. Remain in your houses. If I don’t return by sunrise, consider me dead and your problem permanent.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and towards the dark forest. He made it through the gates before the woman shouted at him, begging for his attention, just for a moment more.

Sighing, he turned, taking in the way they all huddled together like lambs waiting for the wolves to descend. It would be pathetic were it not so human.

“What?” he asked, meeting the woman’s wizened eyes. “What more is there to tell me?”

She didn’t shrink back but it was a close thing. “The monster, it may give you more trouble than you anticipated,” she began, her voice hurried.

Silva cut her off, annoyed. “I’ve been doing this since I could walk. There isn’t any trick or defense it could show that might surprise me.” He moved as if to leave, only to have her rush up, grabbing his arm in strong hands.

“It carries the mark of God upon its forehead,” she entreated, the fear bright in the whites of her eyes. “I know not of the methods you use but the creature is touched by God and does not burn. Do not let yourself be taken in!” Her grip tightened but she stood resolute, determined to arm him with as much information as she could give.

“I can handle it,” Silva said, pulling out of her hands with his strength checked, though his temper threatened otherwise. “Get inside. Let me work.” He turned again and passed through the wooden gates, relieved when they shut quickly enough behind him.

With the moon high and piercing above, Silva moved towards the forest, the weight of his weapons comforting on his back. It wouldn’t matter what appearance the vampire took. He’d have its head by morning.

Just as the woman had said, the castle stood forlorn and abandoned in the midst of the trees, the gnarled branches blending with the turrets to create some jagged mess against the moonlit sky. Silva stared up at the imposing visage for a moment, taking the time to open his bag and ready his weapons.

Stakes on the left, holy water on the right, the gun slung over his back; he readied his armory, adding a few more bullets as the woman’s warning whispered against his ear on the wind. If it were true, his tactics would have to change a little. The majority of his defensive means were based on faith. He shook off the uncertainty and sheathed another knife to his ankle. There had never been a vampire able to stand the touch of a holy symbol. She was probably mistaken, delusional in her fear.

His mind quieted, Silva pushed against the heavy wooden doors. They creaked on hinges more rust than metal and boomed loudly as they hit the inner wall. Silva raised his lantern, fixing it to his thigh to free his hands as he moved inside.

Dust covered the majority of surfaces, motes rising up to dance in the air as he moved through the front room and into the halls. At one point, he expected it had looked grand, perhaps even regal in its expansive decadence, but as it stood now, there wasn’t much left to impress. Furniture was moth-bitten, mirrors darkened and smoky. The wooden floors creaked as he stalked through the space, heading down.

The creature would need darkness for its rest, he knew. It would stay close to its coffin this close to dawn.

Stone steps signaled the entrance to the underground portion of the castle and it was only with mild hesitation that he descended, only stopping to check that his lantern was indeed full, his weapons in their proper place. Preparedness was paramount to survival in this business.

As his boots met the stairs, a wave of trepidation seemed to lap at his composure, similar to the clammy sensation of walking through a spider web. Something was down there, lying in wait. He could tell and his instincts blared in a dull roar. His grip tightened on the stock of his gun as he pushed past it, silently working his way down.

The mouth of the stairs opened into a dungeon-like space, the entire area a work of stone and mortar only found in the oldest of castle structures. Silva kept his back towards the wall, his eyes searching for any sign of movement, of danger.

His ears pricked as he heard the unmistakable sound of crying.

On edge, he strode forward, the gentle curve of his lantern’s light casting the figure into stark relief.

He approached them where they were curled up on the ground, his ever move cautious. Years of hunting refused to allow him to throw away the training ingrained in him. The shaking sobs were the only signs of life in the forsaken place. But, in the depths of a vampire’s lair, it was suicide to trust anything to be what it seemed.

Holy water in hand, he neared the figure with his gun raised, dousing the person before they noticed his presence. Nothing happened besides the crying increasing, wide eyes turning to look at him with a combination of fear and hope, so child-like in its need that Silva fell to his knees to check on the condition of the survivor without another thought.

Concern guided his hands, taking the person by the shoulders.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he angled his back to the wall, refusing to let himself be taken by surprise while tending to a victim. “You’re safe now. Where is the creature?”

Proximity revealed a shaking man, young and small in his arms. Tears coated his cheeks, fear making him cling to Silva’s clothes as if he feared him an illusion. Captivity and god knows what else had not been kind to him, tattering his clothes and mussing his thick black hair. A bandage was tied around his head, no doubt hiding some injury inflicted by the creature.

Despite it all, it was almost intoxicating how beautiful he was.

“Thank you, thank you,” he rushed, holding all the tighter when Silva made to stand. He babbled against Silva’s chest, practically unintelligible through his terror-drenched relief.

“Come on, I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?” Silva tried, though he made sure to keep his voice gentle. He received a sob and a small nod it return, the young man clenching his shirt as he tried to ground himself. “Do you know where the vampire is?”

The man, no more than perhaps twenty, looked so young, so frightened, and Silva had to grit his teeth against the molten mass of loathing for the thing that had put him in such a state. He had to have been down here for a sizable stretch. His skin was as cold as ice, as pale as death.

“Close,” he whispered, pulling himself further into Silva’s arms. Cool breath tickled his skin and Silva grit his teeth, tightening the grip he had on his gun. “He’s so close I fear you may be unprepared.” He was so near that his lips traced Silva’s neck, his voice lacking the quiver from before.

Silva frowned at that, at the change in tone. More cold skin brushed his own and warning bells began to sound in the back of his head.

It was only thanks to his decades of experience that he managed to shove the man from his arms before the fangs pierced his skin. They dragged viciously over his throat, raising blood but failing to penetrate. Silva grunted through the pain, drawing his weapon and aiming at the vampire. He had fallen against the stone, laying there laughing even as Silva approached, his gun drawn and aimed straight at his head.

“Vile beast,” Silva spat, pinning the vampire down with his boot. “Where are the ones you took?”

Wet tears glistened on his face, darkening his ink-black eyes, but he smiled up at him, cocking his head. “Vile? How cruel. You were so comforting before,” he purred, the strength of his compulsion bleeding into his voice like silk over a razor blade. The brush of his fingertips against Silva’s calf seemed to burn through the leather.

Silva glared and applied more pressure, shoving the barrel of his gun against the vampire’s temple, dislodging the fake bandage to reveal the mark of the cross.

“Do not play your games, filth. What have you done with the villagers? Why didn’t you burn?” he snarled, knowing this to be the creature plaguing the village without a doubt. He had never met a vampire that refused to flinch at the sight of a cross, to blister under the assault of holy water.

The fangs shone dangerously in the light of the lantern as the creature laughed, low and seductive despite the gun against his head. “How could something younger than me possibly hurt? Perhaps you should update your arsenal, my dear Reverend.”

The grip on Silva’s calf tightened at that and, with inhuman strength, the vampire tore his feet out from beneath him. He went down hard, struggling as icy hands wrapped around his own with bruising strength. They barely spanned his wrists but he grunted at the pain, throwing himself to the side to get the vampire beneath him. Silva held him there for all of a few seconds before flesh turned intangible, the bright grin below turning to smoke.

An inkling of fear bled through his forced calm. Only ancient vampires were capable of this type of transformation.

Silva wasted no time in standing, grabbing for the gun that had fallen to the side in the scuffle. The cold stone against his back was little comfort in the dark of the dungeon, the smooth laughter of the vampire seeming to come at him from all sides.

“Where are the villagers?” he shouted into the darkness, eyeing down the sight of his gun in search of any sign of movement.

This wasn’t worth the pay.

“I would worry about yourself, Reverend.”

The words came quietly, so close they seemed on top of him and Silva spun to the left, firing at the origin on instinct. The shot met empty air, cold hands alighted on his neck, and, by the time he noticed, it was too late. Sharp fangs sank into his throat, a strong swipe at his legs sending him to the stone floor. Silva fought the arms around him. Dark eyes met his own and compulsion bled through his rage, quieting and smothering.

The creature spoke, his lips bloodied with macabre makeup. “Stay still for me,” he crooned, stroking his fingers through long hair, dipping his head for another painful bite. He drank deeply, holding tighter as Silva forcibly went lax in his arms. “You’re so warm, just like I imagined. Oh, I’ve wanted you for so long. It was worth the wait.”

“You…planned this,” Silva managed to grit out between his teeth, the vampire’s suggestion keeping him docile despite the acid boiling beneath the surface. “You beast, you planned this…”

“Call me Chrollo, Reverend.” The words were whispered against his ear, warm like a lover. Arms tightened around Silva’s middle, a cool cheek nuzzling his own. Silva jumped when a tongue traced the corner of his mouth, an iron taste following its movements.

Compulsion must have threaded the statement and Silva found his lips forming the name before he realized he was speaking.

“Chrollo…” he parroted back, voice weak. The hands stroked his head like a pet.

Another kiss was pressed to his cheek as the vampire smiled. “Good, good. Sleep now, Silva,” Chrollo murmured, burrowing himself deeper into the hunter’s arms. “Welcome to your new home.”

Silva groaned as darkness flooded his vision, too weak to resist the voice. He was out before he could process the words.

oOo

“Silva? Silva, wake up.”

Silva groaned, refusing to open his eyes despite the insistent whisper of the voice near his ear. He was comfortable, warm, and surrounded by soft blankets. The cool press of another body against his own didn’t surprise him as much as it should have. For some reason, it felt natural.

Cold lips brushed his cheek, colder fingers following to turn his face into the inquisitive mouth. “Please wake up, for me?” Chrollo asked, his voice a laugh.

Reluctantly, Silva opened his eyes. Dark ones met his, black like ink and night and he frowned. Pale lips parted into a smile, wide enough for the sharp points of eyeteeth to show. He stared for all of a minute before comprehension caught up and instinct had him thrashing.

Steel-like hands descended on him, pinning him back down to the mattress as easily as a cat holding down a wounded bird. His weapons were nowhere to be seen, the room completely unfamiliar.

The vampire straddled his waist and held him firm, smiling like a child in wonder. “Such vigor, Silva,” he remarked, leaning down to press their noses together in a mockery of a sweet gesture. “Anyone else would still be woozy, given how much I drank. I suppose this just highlights that Zoldyck excellence you tout so proudly.”

“Release me,” Silva all but snarled, fighting against the small hands holding him immobile. He tried to curse, to call the vampire a beast, a monster, but the words stayed bridled in his mouth. “Chrollo,” he spat instead, viciously recalling the way he had been told to address the creature atop his lap. There would be no pejoratives allowed, not while under the thrall of his compulsion.

Chrollo simply kissed him, increasing the pressure of his grip until Silva gasped, opening his mouth to let him inside. “Why ever would I do that? I caught you fair and square,” he gave, whispering the words against warm skin. He seemed to luxuriate in the pilfered affection, nuzzling Silva’s front with his entire body. “You’re mine now. You and all of this beautiful warmth.”

Instead of arguing, Silva struggled anew, bucking and thrashing like an untamed bull. He snarled when Chrollo merely held tighter, giggling on his chest as he rode it out effortlessly. The entire thing was frustrating, embarrassing, and Silva grit his teeth and threw himself to the side, rolling them over and onto the floor.

They fell together with a muted thud, Chrollo taking the brunt of the impact though he made no sign of feeling it. Like this, Silva was able to wrestle some control back, taking the fixed grip on his wrists and using it to pin the vampire to the stone.

“I’m going to kill you,” Silva promised, his voice seething at the grin that refused to dissipate. All of his weapons had been taken but he was a professional. He could find something, make one if need be.

The threat fell short the moment Chrollo laughed, unrestrained and melodic. It was a simple thing for him to lace their fingers together, undermining Silva’s hold easily. “Do you like this?” he asked, arching into the hunter looming above him. “Holding me down, under you? Do you like the control?” His leg wrapped around Silva’s thigh, dragging him flush against his lithe body.

Silva faltered at that, the intent unexpected in the midst of his rage. Another kiss was pressed to his mouth, his throat, Chrollo leaning up eagerly for any contact he could manage before Silva pulled himself out of range. Dark eyes seemed to burn into his brain, the fight slowly slipping from his body like water through a sieve.

Chrollo freed his hands from Silva’s easily, taking advantage of his dazed state to roll them again. He straddled the hunter’s waist and tangled his fingers in the long hair fanned out on the ground below. “I like it too. But I wonder,” he posed, moving Silva’s hands to wrap around him in an embrace. “Maybe you’d like if I held you down? Big bad hunter, always in control. Let someone else hold the reins, hmm?”

There was no resisting the mouth nipping at his neck or the sharp pain that followed when fangs sank into his vein. He groaned as the vampire fed from him, as Chrollo licked a trail down his chest to bite along his collarbone and pecs. Fabric parted beneath china-white fingers, revealing skin to be marked. Through it all, Silva could only try to swallow down his noises. He wasn’t all that successful.

Lips covered in blood, Chrollo drew back from his meal with consummate glee. Silva was a mess of blood and marks, his steely gaze muddied with desire and anger. He licked his mouth clean and fed the dregs to the hunter, coaxing his stubborn tongue into a lazy dance. With the heavy weight of Silva’s hands around his waist, he looked for all the world like a cat pleased by the scope of attention it had garnered. Despite it all, Silva couldn’t find the strength to throw him off.

With tiny, teasing kisses, Chrollo had Silva chasing his lips when he pulled away, the smile luminous in the wane light of the candles. “Oh yes, I was right to want you,” the vampire crooned while he played with a lock of Silva’s hair. The strands appeared golden in the flickering glow, molten against Chrollo’s pale skin.

Silva glared weakly somewhere over his shoulder. “Let me go, Chrollo,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I’m not something you can own. I’m going to kill you.”

He hated how he sounded like he was lecturing, as if this creature were a confused child. Blood loss deadened his arms, enough that he blamed it for not pushing him away, for not throwing him to the side and off his chest.

Chrollo simply laughed and moved in for another kiss, swallowing his token protests like a fine wine. “Let me change your mind, Silva. But for now, why don’t you get some more sleep?” The words were whispered, seductive and layered with compelling force. "You feel very tired, don't you?"

As his eyes slid shut, Silva felt the cool fingers drag across his skin as if seeking warmth from the cold.

oOo

“Oh come now, you need to eat,” Chrollo pouted, nudging the hunter’s chest with the tray of food as if that would entice him to take it in hand. He was knelt on the bed, inching closer with every second spent in close proximity.

Silva just grunted and rolled to face the wall, refusing to feed Chrollo’s incessant need for attention. The tray jabbed him again, this time in the center of his back. It had been days since he had last eaten but he stood firm and resolute. If he starved himself, his blood would lose its appeal. Perhaps that would be enough to destroy Chrollo’s illusions of keeping him as a sustainable food source.

A whine sounded somewhere over his shoulder and he allowed himself a small smile, petty as the victory was. He felt the tray settle somewhere behind him, felt the dip in the mattress as Chrollo slowly crawled closer to touch him. Cold cut through his clothing when fingers brushed his hair, softly and comfortingly. Silva ignored it. It was the way a person would stroke a pet, patronizing and unwanted. If he thought he could even manage it, he would bite the hand.

“Silva,” Chrollo tried again, his voice light and lilting. “Silva. Please eat. For me?”

That was enough to pull a grunt from him, some mockery of a laugh.

“Why would I ever do anything for you?” he shot back, acerbic. “I hate you.”

The hands fell to his shoulder, forcing him onto his back with unerring sweetness to match that in dark eyes. Chrollo bit his lip and leaned closer, but didn’t crawl onto his chest like Silva expected. Instead, he kept his distance, merely letting his hands rest lightly on his arm. Silva resolutely looked back at the wall, ignoring the pleading earnestness that lingered so close. Next would come the compulsion, the pervasive force in the back of his head directing him to bend to the vampire’s will.

Chrollo paused, seeming to ponder the words.

“Why?” he asked after a moment of pensive silence. “Why do you hate me? And what does that have to do with eating?”

The audacity of the question was enough to make Silva turn back, if only to glare at the bratty vampire sitting like a spurned child at his side.

“You’ve trapped me and locked me in here as your glorified plaything,” he began, sitting up as the accumulated anger of the past days finally demanded an outlet. “I’ve been subjected to your feeding, your fondling and teasing and damned will-bending, and you think I would hold any other feeling for you besides contempt?”

He wasn’t shouting, but his voice grew cold and barbed by the time he finished. Chrollo took it in stride, looking at the bedspread while he seemingly pondered the accusations.

“That doesn’t explain you refusing to eat, though,” he finally said, brow furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t even tell you to do it, so it can’t just be you being obstinate.”

Anger rose hot and thick in his throat and Silva grabbed the vampire by the throat, pinning him to the bed as he seethed. The fact that Chrollo let him only added to his rage.

“Why the hell would I do anything to make myself a better meal for you?” he practically spat, longing to rip out the heart of the creature lying so beautifully below him.

Chrollo’s eyes widened in surprise and Silva forced his elbow against his pale throat, as if it would do anything to something that didn’t need to breathe. Pale, delicate fingers curled around his arm, easily lifting it enough to allow him to take in enough air to speak. “Is that really the reason?” he asked incredulously, stroking up and down the muscled forearm absentmindedly. “That’s a stupid reason to starve yourself.” Cold fingers probed beneath his sleeve seeking warmth, his dark eyes twinkling like he had heard a joke.

Before Silva could snap back at him, Chrollo flipped them easily. He took Silva’s hands in his own and pressed them to his cheeks, sighing in comfort. “I don’t just like you for your blood you know,” he murmured, kissing the strong pulse point in either wrist. “I wanted you, I waited for you. Why don’t we make a little deal?”

“Is there even a choice in this for me,” Silva scoffed, too use to the manhandling to fight it. “You’ll just force me to bend to your whims if I refuse.”

Chrollo brought his hands lower, encouraging them to wrap around his thin throat. “Where’s the fun in that? If you don’t like it when I do that, then perhaps I can be persuaded to stop.” His voice was melodic and sweet, gasping slightly when Silva tightened his hands. If it were anyone else, they’d be choking.

“Make a deal with me, Silva. I promise I’ll play nice.”

The way he licked his lips, eyes heated, showed Silva just how nice he was willing to be. Pushing the thought aside, he grit his teeth and channeled his frustration into his grip. “What’s to stop you from just doing as you please,” he grated, making the question sound like a statement. The only leverage he had was his body, his blood. Chrollo could take both easily, his strength and voice giving him an immeasurable advantage with no weapons in sight.

Chrollo pouted at that, stroking Silva’s forearms when he squeezed even tighter. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked, his tone hurt but his eyes laughing. “Where would be the fun in cheating? I’d rather you be happy and healthy than unhappy and healthy.” His hair brushed Silva’s hand as he tipped forward, kissing the frowning face below him.

He told himself he only kissed back because of exhaustion, blood loss, and his hunger. The vampire had exploited his weaknesses and ensnared him as his strength failed. That was why he moved his hands to soft hair, dragging his tongue against warming lips until he was granted entrance inside a talented mouth. Chrollo’s hands dove beneath his shirt, scratching down his chest in their pursuit of heat and skin. He groaned at the gentle pain and pulled away, finding it so much harder to grimace up at the smiling brat preening on his chest.

Chrollo rolled his hips a little and didn’t retract his hands. “So,” he breathed, nuzzling Silva’s neck. “Do you want to hear the terms or not?”

oOo

Creature comforts, no matter how minor, were designed to relax and coddle the weak. Silva had never wasted his time with them. A hunter couldn’t be picky. There was no point or productivity gained in whining and scoffing at the life he had chosen simply for the luxuries it didn’t afford him. The fact that he even accepted Chrollo’s offer spat in the face of his upbringing and profession.

Despite it all though, he couldn’t deny the pleasure that came from warm water and the simple desire to be clean.

If asked, he would be hard pressed to justify it for the price he paid in exchange.

The door opened and Silva jumped, grabbing for the towel lying on the floor next to him.

“I don’t remember this being part of the deal,” Silva managed to say as he tried to cover himself. Water ran down his chest, dripping from his hair onto the floor below. He hadn’t thought he’d be interrupted, not when Chrollo had taken such care to lead him to the bathroom and lock him inside.

Chrollo raised a brow and took him in, smiling lazily as he closed the door behind him. “The deal was that I could drink from you whenever I wanted,” he purred as he stalked forward, looking every ounce of the predator he was. “Maybe I’m hungry now.”

Silva rolled his eyes and pointedly stood his ground as much as he could whilst sitting on a stool, naked but for the towel around his waist. “You fed last night.” The marks still showed lividly on his throat, stinging every time he stretched too far.

Instead of arguing, Chrollo just shrugged, taking Silva’s face in his hands. Water soaked into his clothing as he pressed closer but he paid it no mind. “Then maybe I just wanted your company?” he tried, seating himself on Silva’s lap so he could embrace him fully.

It was a testament to routine that he didn’t fight the touch. “I don’t need company while I bathe, Chrollo. You sitting on me just makes it harder.” He couldn’t even reach the basin of water at his feet let alone the cloth he had dropped when Chrollo surprised him. His skin prickled in the cool air, Chrollo’s icy touch not helping in the slightest.

Teeth attached themselves to his earlobe, nipping teasingly. “Then why don’t I help you?” Chrollo offered with a whisper, his fingers chasing the water trailing down his chest. Leaning down, he easily snatched up the fallen rag, wetting it to wipe over the myriad of bruises littering Silva’s chest.

Silva’s eyes widened but he didn’t jerk away, even as cool lips chased the path of the cloth. He managed a grunt, forcing his gaze to the stone at his feet. The towel felt too thin and far too small.

“You’ll get wet,” he said.

“Then I’ll just join you,” Chrollo answered back, dropping the cloth to unbutton his own shirt.

The thin garment fell to the floor and Silva resolutely watched it go, ignoring the pale skin suddenly so close to his own. That is, until Chrollo took his hands and placed them on his waist, encouraging him to touch with a quiet “you can help me too.”

Soft and warm, the cloth passed over his chest again and this time Silva shifted. Taking Chrollo’s hand in his own, he managed to speak.

“I think you need to leave.” His mouth felt dry but he spoke firmly.

Chrollo frowned and pulled back, seeming to deflate at that. “But why?” he questioned, plastering himself against Silva’s bare chest. “I want you, Silva.”

And that in itself was the problem, Silva thought. Cool fingers tried to touch his face and he took them in hand easily, the thin wrists so small in his grip. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t want you in here. Are you going to break our deal?” Even as he spoke he could see the disappointment in dark eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek and refused to go soft in the face of it.

“But,” Chrollo began, biting his lip as he looked at their joined hands. “But I’m not making you. I haven’t broken anything.” He looked imploringly into Silva’s eyes. “I just want to touch you.”

“You don’t need to use your will to compel people, Chrollo. You’re still doing it, just in a different way,” Silva replied, staring pointedly at Chrollo’s naked torso, the way he was curled against his chest. Seductive in every way, it was a struggle all its own to resist the urge to pull the vampire closer, to keep telling himself all the reasons why it would be a bad idea. Chrollo was dangerous and enticing in more ways than one. “You need to leave, unless you’d rather throw away our agreement.”

He glanced up quickly enough to make out the heartbroken flash of pain that marred the youthful face before it closed off, turning blank as marble. Chrollo muttered something under his breath, some affirmative that came off childish and petty but still hurt when he slipped off Silva’s lap. The door nearly slammed shut, taking everything Chrollo had promised with him as he left.

Something hard and heavy settled in Silva’s stomach, some undefinable feeling that he refused to scrutinize too closely. With rag in hand, he instead set himself to finishing his bathing alone. The basin had lost its heat during the exchange but Silva ignored it, scrubbing at the skin Chrollo had touched as if it would erase the desire that still seemed to linger, replacing it with tepid water like a poor substitute.

Like cold, liquid clarity.

oOo

The solitude grated like nails against slate and Silva paced the small room like an animal trapped.

It had been days since he had seen Chrollo. Days since he had been visited or touched or anything by the infuriating vampire. Every time he awoke there stood new food on the bedside table, bottles of water or wine but never a smiling face or cold skin pressing against his own.

The change was disconcerting.

Unwelcome.

How long had it been since Chrollo had fed, he wondered, laying back on the comfortable bed. The passage of time was nigh impossible to tell, but his internal clock had him leaning towards almost a week. Even the oldest of vampires required a regular supply of blood. Chrollo probably couldn’t last much longer, not on willpower alone. The thought made him uneasy so he cast it somewhere else. He wasn’t in the mood to dwell on ill-placed concern.

So instead he turned onto his side and closed his eyes to the empty walls around him. It wasn’t long before he began to drift off, somewhere in between the state of sleep and wakefulness where lucid dreams took root and exhaustion never truly bled away. He felt a few hours creep past, effortlessly and languidly, so much so that he barely registered the door opening.

Chrollo slipped inside with barely a whisper of sound.

Years of training and vigilance kept him from ignoring it. Silva kept calm his breathing, letting Chrollo approach. There didn’t seem to be a tray of food from what he could tell through the slightest crack in his eyelids.

A hand reached for his arm. Silva forced himself to not move, not let any of his alertness show in his breathing. There was no telling how hungry Chrollo had gotten from his self-imposed fast. There might be no stopping him if he decided to lunge, to consume unbidden and unrestricted.

He waited until the cool fingertips were hardly an inch from his skin, their touch hovering just on the edge of perception, before striking.

Not even Chrollo’s enhanced senses could help him evade. Silva grabbed him by the outstretched hand, his grip encircling the slender wrist easily. Just as he opened his mouth to demand answers, Chrollo fell to the floor on his knees at the side of the bed, his eyes filled with fear.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his eyes looking anywhere but at Silva. “I didn’t want to force you but I couldn’t handle it.” Chrollo brought the hand holding his own to his face, rubbing the warm skin against his own. “I can’t handle the cold any longer.”

From his tone, Silva could tell he expected him to send him away or threaten to break the deal. He hadn’t thought his words before would have given Chrollo the idea that any contact was dangerous. He hadn’t thought Chrollo cared so much about his comfort that he willingly stayed away instead of risking it.

“Then don’t,” Silva said, so quiet it was nearly lost in the space of the room.

Chrollo stared up at him, disbelief and pure need warring it out on his face. Silva made it easy on him, letting go of his wrist to cradle his cheek in his hand. He brushed his thumb over a cold, sharp cheekbone and pulled him forward, Chrollo following eagerly.

Even before he straddled his waist, Silva could feel the vampire shaking. “What’s wrong?” he asked, bringing up his other hand for Chrollo to nuzzle, the warmth bleeding in and slowly thawing his icy touch.

“I had a nightmare.” Chrollo whispered it like a secret he didn’t want spread, burying his face in Silva’s chest. A shudder tore through his body, shaking him like a leaf in a storm. “I can’t go back to it, Silva. I can’t take the cold any longer, please don’t make me.”

Silva couldn’t tell if it was a ploy or not, but the dampness threatening to soak through his shirt was too much for him to simply ignore. Chrollo was so small, so cold and small laid out on him like this. He stroked down his back and, with a grimace, rolled them to put Chrollo against the mattress.

“What do you need?” he asked solemnly, bracketing Chrollo’s tear-stricken face with his arms. He was so beautiful, so young though his eyes betrayed him with the age they held in their depths. Silva's hair, loose as it was, draped down and curtained around them, hiding them from the world.

The ease in which Chrollo pulled him down against his body kept the reality of the situation apparent, the paradox a sharp note to their kiss. “You,” he said against Silva’s lips, his tongue chasing contact. “I just need you.”

It was vague, dangerously vague when dealing with a vampire, but Silva couldn’t find it in him to resist the siren’s song pouring from the creature below him. His fingers dug into soft hair and tilted Chrollo up to push deeper into his mouth. Deadly fangs teased his tongue and it wasn’t long before blood flavored the kiss.

Chrollo writhed beneath him, tangling his hands into the fabric of Silva’s shirt to roll himself back on top, the need to feed taking over for a moment. Predatory, he descended on Silva’s neck, his lips wet with red-tinged saliva and stolen heat.

Pain greeted the pleasure in a heady burst but Silva was far too use to it to pay it any mind, instead setting himself to removing Chrollo’s shirt and the silken vest he had deigned to wear that evening. His fingers scrambled along the smooth fabric, the lovely lines of his person not quite worth the effort of the finicky buttons and slick grip it afforded Silva. It was a victory in itself to cast off the garments, throwing them heedlessly to the floor in light of the bare skin he now had under his fingertips.

Chrollo steadily warmed up as he fed, his skin shifting from ice to merely cool. He pulled his fangs from Silva’s throat, licking at the trail of blood that ran down his neck even as he followed it lower to Silva’s chest. The shirt blocking his way quickly fell prey to his impatient strength, the simple cotton defenseless to the fervor building between them.

Silva didn’t stop him as he crept steadily lower, his blood-reddened lips leaving a smear as they kissed and bit down his chest, his abdomen. Even as the belt joined the shirts, his trousers sliding down his muscled thighs, he still lay still, letting Chrollo take in his body beneath his hands and mouth. Eyes closing, he gasped quietly as a cool tongue licked at the head of his cock, inquisitive and light as if expecting this all to end at any moment. He let out a moan and the misgivings seemed to vanish, Chrollo’s mouth descending with intent.

On some level, Silva knew he should feel some measure of concern at having a vampire’s mouth so intimately at work on his cock.

On some level, he knew he should be shutting this entire thing down before it got even more out of hand.

Chrollo tore another moan from him though with some clever twirl of his tongue, a masterful display of control over his gag reflex, and he knew there would be no going back. He thrust up into the talented mouth, breath labored. There would be no stopping, not until they were both sated, in whatever way it came.

All too soon Chrollo pulled off, his tongue dragging one last time up the length of his shaft before shifting lower, his teeth nipping at his inner thigh. Again Silva felt the piercing sting of fangs entering a vein, Chrollo latching onto the newfound source with a moan of his own. He alternated between drinking deep and sucking bruises into his skin, coaxing more noises from the hunter even as he gripped the sheets in a restless bid for control.

“You taste so good,” Chrollo moaned against his damp skin, rubbing his cheek against his thigh. “Silva, please, I can’t get enough of you.”

From his position, Silva could just make out the sight of Chrollo working himself through his trousers, trembling with the strength of his want. “Get up here,” Silva grunted, dragging him by the scruff of his neck when he didn’t move fast enough. He sealed their lips together again, tasted himself in the blood and precum mess that painted Chrollo’s mouth like make up.

His hands seemed to move themselves, dragging down Chrollo’s back to slip beneath his waistband. He cupped his ass and rolled the vampire against him in a delicious burn of friction. He swallowed the moan that followed. Chrollo’s hands were wild, burying themselves in his hair, scratching lines of fire down his arms, his back. Blood scented the air enough to cut through the heady tang of sex and even Silva felt himself grow feral and hungry.

Chrollo’s back met the sheets again and he scrambled against the mattress to reach Silva, unwilling to allow even an inch of space between them. His skin was almost flushed now, the given blood warming him and making him blush like an eager virgin. Silva chased the rosy color, fighting to mark the granite skin with teeth and nails alike when he ripped the last of Chrollo’s clothing off, baring him to his gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he nearly growled, taking in the pale pink skin, the lust-ridden eyes staring at him imploringly. Silva’s head felt light, filled with want and need enough to make him intoxicated. He ground them together, if only to feel Chrollo’s skin against his.

His hand was snatched by Chrollo’s, the difference in temperature nearly indistinguishable at this point. A familiar wetness greeted his fingers, the wanton mouth closing around him as Chrollo laved his tongue against the digits. Even as he watched, he read the silent plea in dark eyes, the unspoken desire for more, to give him everything.

No words were spoken but Silva moved like a man compelled, pulling free his fingers to begin working open Chrollo beneath him. Chrollo was eager, eager beyond the point of concern, thrusting back with every move he made in search of more contact. Silva stretched him quickly, kissing him silent when he began to whine with impatience. He knew there wasn’t much need for the care in which he prepared him, but the heady sight of Chrollo writhing on his fingers was too much to give up.

That is, until Chrollo began to gasp and twist, his nails tearing vicious lines down his back as he teased and took him to pieces. Fangs stabbed into his shoulder, his tongue lapping at the blood like a fount. “Please, Silva, please fuck me,” he cried, comforting himself with the blood dripping from his lips. “I’m ready, I can take it, just hurry, please.”

Too strung out to even think of using his strength or compulsion, Chrollo lay helpless beneath him, waiting for him to grant him what he wished. Silva drank it in with a kiss, removing his fingers and lining himself up with a heated noise of his own. He hardly had the control to tease, but he did, rubbing the head of his cock against Chrollo’s entrance before thrusting inside with a single smooth motion.

He kept his eyes on Chrollo, burying his own pleasure to take in the beautiful visage below. Blood still coated his lips but his eyes were bright, gasping and mewling as he came apart against the sheets. Sharp teeth teased behind his tongue. Silva forgot to breathe. He could only stare and roll his hips to elicit more from the creature moaning quietly against his lips.

Despite their fevered pace from before, Silva kept this slow, dragging each thrust out before pushing back in. Chrollo clung to him desperately, whispering all manner of pleas and desires in his ear. His arms shook as he went faster, unable to deny Chrollo anything when he looked at him so wantonly. The vampire filled his head, his senses, and it was a forgone conclusion to find himself lost to it.

\------

It was later, much later, when the heat and urgency that sex brought had faded, that Silva looked to the vampire in his arms and considered. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the burning hatred that so commonly filled him when upon looking at his prey. There was nothing of it, not a trace.

Chrollo curled closer, drunk on the warmth and blood and contact. Contentment shrouded him like a cloak. Cool lips brushed his chest and Silva looked down into inkwell eyes, beholden.

“Why me?”

The question slipped free before he registered his mouth moving. Chrollo crawled onto his chest, tasting the words on his lips.

“Because I waited for you.” He smiled as he spoke, tracing his tongue along the marks he had littered across his skin like flower petals. “Because I wanted you.”

Silva frowned, looking to the wall so he wouldn’t have to watch the deadly fangs tease like a reminder of how far he had fallen. “How,” he whispered, hardly wanting to hear the answer. He felt he had to ask. Like he would lose more if he didn’t. “How did you find me?”

“Ah, Silva,” he crooned, licking away the sting of his touch. “You’re the best of your kind. You always come when you’re needed.”

The words seemed to reverberate in the room, against the stone like the percussive chime of bells. He remembered the old woman, the fear and loss in her eyes as she begged for help. For the villagers who had been taken. That he had never found.

He didn’t look away from the wall.

“How many villages?” he breathed, the weight of the vampire’s desire finally becoming clear. “How many did you empty to draw me out?”

He could feel the lazy smile against his throat, stinging like the kiss of a thorn hidden by the petals of a rose.

A kiss came en lieu of an answer. Silva closed his eyes, tasting corpses on Chrollo’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah it was pretty sweet up until that ending but lets face it, this plot wasnt going to end pretty and i love me my unhealthy shit. anyway, check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this. until next time~


End file.
